


A Glittering Abyss

by Salvia_G



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU-everyone survives, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epistolary, Fix-it: BOFA, Fluff, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-08 09:43:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salvia_G/pseuds/Salvia_G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of the Five Armies, Thorin has forgiven Bilbo; but Bilbo finds he cannot forgive Thorin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [A Glittering Abyss：闪烁深渊](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3452798) by [Maryandmathew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maryandmathew/pseuds/Maryandmathew)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I own nothing, not Tolkien's lovely _The Hobbit_ nor the Peter Jackson films inspired by the book; and I am grateful for the chance to play in Middle Earth's playground too.

Once he had decided, Bilbo went to Kili first.  It was in the evening, just before dinner, when he entered the healers’ camp.  Kili looked up at the ceiling of his tent as Bilbo entered.

“Have you, too, come to tell me I will be the stuff of legends?  One-armed Kili, whose aim was ever true, who killed many Orcs in battle before he couldn’t put an arrow to bowstring anymore?”

“I have come to say goodbye, Kili,” Bilbo said gently.

Kili looked at Bilbo then.  He seemed to see the truth of it in Bilbo’s face, for he reached to Bilbo then, with his one hand. 

“No!  You cannot go yet!  How can you go while Fili still sleeps?”  He wiped away furious tears.  “Why would you go so soon?”

Bilbo had thought his heart could not break more, but of course, it would break again for this brave young Dwarf.  “I have been gone a long time, Kili; and it is a long journey back to the Shire,” he said.  “I must go home.”

Kili had never looked more like his uncle.  “You do not need to go; you choose to go!  A week, a month or more would make no difference; if you leave now you will have to spend the winter in Rivendell!”

Bilbo reluctantly nodded.  Kili threw the stoneware pitcher of water from his bedside table at Bilbo’s head.  “Go, then!  I will tell Fili you did not care enough to wait!”

Bilbo dodged the pitcher.  “Farewell, Kili,” he stuttered, his voice choked.  He almost ran to exit the tent.  He paused to hear Kili’s sobs, but he did not go back in the tent.  Outside the healing camp, he wiped away his own tears.  That could have gone better, he thought.  Ah, well.  Coward.  You knew he could not leave his bed.

***

At dinner he told the rest of the company.  Dwalin scowled and Balin’s frown was concerned.  Bofur’s kind eyes were sad.  Ori looked to Dori as if he sought an explanation.  None seemed to understand.  Bilbo was glad of it; he did not want them to understand his reasons.  He had said he would go; he must go; that would have to be enough for them.  They had known of his homesickness since almost the beginning of the journey.  Let them remember his longing for his home and be satisfied.

Nevertheless, they all asked him to stay, in their various ways.  Each pulled him aside the next day, at a meal or while he packed, to ask him to reconsider.  Bofur was the hardest for Bilbo to face.

“I know ye miss your home,” he said.  “But ye’ve just given ours back to us.  Won’t you stay to see us make it one?”  Bilbo could only shake his head.  Bofur waited for a while, but Bilbo said nothing else.  He continued packing.  Finally Bofur clapped a hand on his shoulder, then moved away.

When he was ready, his bags packed, and Gandalf waited with his pony, Bilbo went to say goodbye to Fili.  Fili lay still and silent, as Fili had never been.  Though Gandalf waited, Bilbo sat a long time by Fili’s bed.  He was glad that for this one member of the company, he did not have to try to explain.  For this one member of the company, he could simply be.  He pretended that he was not crying.  He wished he could stay to see Fili wake.  He did not think he could.

When he left Fili’s tent, he saw that they would have just enough time to ride to Dale before nightfall.  Gandalf seemed to understand that he could not talk just yet.  They had mounted and were prepared to ride out when a few Dwarves appeared, guards from the Iron Hills.  They did not menace, but they were clearly there to stop them from leaving.

“Will you hinder us in our journey?” Gandalf inquired, only the slightest hint of power in his voice.  Bilbo had seen Gandalf when he choose to intimidate.  He was not trying yet.

“No, sir,” the Dwarf captain replied.  “Only to ask you to wait, if you would.”

Bilbo tensed.  No good can come of this.  He spoke.

“If we do not leave now, we will not be in Dale before dark,” he said.

“You need not hurry,” Thorin said.  “Erebor would welcome you a while yet.”

Bilbo trembled as he turned his pony to face Thorin.  He would do this, and then it would be done.  Gandalf turned his horse as well.  It pranced forward a bit, blocking Bilbo’s view of Thorin.

“Perhaps not, Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf said.  “But what good host keeps guests beyond when they want to stay?”

Thorin moved to the side a few steps to seek Bilbo, sitting his pony quietly beyond Gandalf.  Bilbo could see Thorin now, leaning on a crutch, his ribs wrapped tightly.  Balin supported his other side.  Thorin’s face was taut with pain.

“What welcome guest flies into the night without farewells?” he asked.  “You have taken your leave of all the company, but you have not bid me farewell, Bilbo.”

Bilbo looked at Thorin’s boots.  “No,” he said.  Thorin sighed.

“I meant what I said, Bilbo, when I thought I would die; and I mean it still.  I would have friendship between us.  I would know that you have forgiven me.  I do not send you away but would ask you to stay in Erebor a time, to help us rebuild our home.”

Bilbo looked at the ground somewhere near Thorin’s feet.  “I thank you,” he said.  “I cannot stay.”

Thorin frowned.  “Do you not wish to see Fili recovered?”  Slowly, he maneuvered his crutch so he could take a few steps forward.  “What do you mean, you cannot stay?”  He looked suspiciously at Gandalf.  “The wizard does not make you go.”  It sounded half statement, half question.

Gandalf sat his horse, inscrutable.  What good are wizards, Bilbo thought grumpily.

Thorin moved a few steps closer.  Bilbo, half turning, realized that he was trapped between Gandalf on one side and a rocky outcropping on the other.  He could not move away.

“Please do not go,” Thorin said softly.  He was only a few feet away now, awkward with his crutch.  He was bleeding through his dressing on one side.

“I must go!  I cannot stay!”  Bilbo cried wildly.  Thorin’s hand was now on his pony’s bridle.

Still Thorin pressed him.  “Why must you leave us so soon?  And why would you not say goodbye to me before you left?”

Bilbo could not help it.  He drew Sting. 

“Let go my pony’s bridle,” he said.  His voice was high and wavering.  The Iron Hills guards were suddenly alert, but Thorin raised his hand to stay them.

“Bilbo,” he said.  “Bilbo.  You fear me.”  Bilbo felt an angry tear roll down his face.  He nodded once.

Thorin took his hand off the bridle.  It was awkward for him, on the crutch, but he managed to move back some space.  His jaw clenched. 

“You cannot forgive me,” he said.  “For my words and my deeds at the Gate.”

Bilbo slowly sheathed Sting.  He looked at Gandalf, pleading.  Gandalf merely looked back at him, a sad near-smile on his lips.  He would find no help there.  He turned back to Thorin.

“I have forgiven you, Thorin,” he said.  Thorin looked up, his eyes bright.  Bilbo shook his head.  “But I cannot forget it.”  Thorin drew in a breath.  It seemed very loud in the sudden silence.  Bilbo shook his head again, and scrunched his face, but still he cried.

“I dream of being held over that expanse.  I dream again and again of falling that long way down.  I tried to come and visit you and I could not make myself do it.”  Bilbo sobbed.  Thorin reached out his hand to Bilbo; Bilbo flinched.  Thorin’s hand held for a moment, then dropped away. 

“I am grateful for all you have done for Erebor,” he said stiffly.  “I will not keep you when you do not wish to stay.”  He paused.  “I cannot believe your words when you say you have forgiven me, but I must believe you when you say you wish to go.  Farewell then.”  He gestured curtly to Balin, who helped him move back to his fretting healers.

He turned and he bowed then, a clumsy thing, very unlike the always dignified Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain.

“I and mine shall ever be at your service,” he said. 

Bilbo still could not look at his face.  He turned a pleading look to Gandalf.  With the saddest look in the world, Gandalf turned his horse to the Dale road.  Bilbo followed on his pony.  He thought perhaps he saw Kili watching in the twilight.  He did not look at Thorin again.  With every step he felt safer.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Gandalf's journey takes them to the Last Homely House.

The journey passed, as journeys do.  They spent little time with the Wood Elves, for Bilbo wanted to be far away from the Lonely Mountain before winter truly settled over the land, and it was yet some distance to Rivendell.  Thranduil was oddly tactful.  He called Bilbo ‘Elf friend,’ and he spoke to him of his journey plans; but he did not press him to stay and he did not ask why Bilbo had not stayed in Erebor.  Bilbo supposed he thought it was that business with the Arkenstone, and really, he would be right about that, Bilbo thought, as far as that went.  Bilbo was eager to move on.  He did not sleep well in the Mirkwood, even in the Wood Elves' stronghold.  He dreamed not of giant spiders, however; but of strong hands shaking him and a long fall down a sparkling abyss:  the same dream that had driven him from Erebor.  Always wakeful after such a dream, he walked the halls of the Elf king that he had learned so well when the Dwarves were captive there.  He could not help but think of Thorin and the others, trapped in the dungeons.  When Gandalf’s business with Thranduil was done, Bilbo bid farewell gladly.  They were a kind and merry bunch (though stern with trespassers in their woods), but Bilbo looked eagerly ahead.  He would be glad to put the Mirkwood between him and Erebor.  And soon they did, for Elvish guides took them right to the edges of that dark wood in far less time than it had taken the company to cross it on the way.  Gandalf and Bilbo turned their faces to the Carrock.

Beorn was eager to hear their tales of the journey.  He had not waited after the battle, but left to return to his home even before Bilbo and Gandalf’s precipitous departure.  He laughed to hear of Bilbo’s encounters with Smaug, and how the Dwarves had escaped from the Elfking packed in barrels, and he frowned to hear how soon they would leave him.

“For winter is just as cozy here as in Rivendell,” he said.  “And even I would be glad of company such as this.  Besides, little bunny is not fat enough.”  But they would not be dissuaded.  Bilbo slept no better here than in the Mirkwood.  Always he dreamed of being roughly shaken.  Always he dreamed of that beautiful, terrible fall.  So leave they did, and just as winter truly set the land to slumber, they came to the Last Homely House.

Bilbo’s heart rose within him to see Rivendell before them.  They were greeted most graciously by Lord Elrond himself, who called not only Gandalf but also Bilbo ‘Elf friend.’  Bilbo spent that first evening soothed by watching the cascading waterfalls, though he did not venture too near the edge.  He was less comfortable with heights than he had been.  That night he went to sleep in his cozy bed, content to finally be here, to winter in peaceful Rivendell.

Later that night he woke in cold sweat after a dream of strong hands holding him above a night sky turned upside down, whirling and dizzy and powerless.  Wakeful, he lay trembling in his bed till morning.

 Some number of days passed in this way.  In daylight, Bilbo sought out the merry Elves.  There was music and laughter, songs and stories.  Yet Bilbo grew to dread his bed, for every night his dream came.  His fears had not dimmed, not with time, not with distance.  Each night he faced Thorin over the gaping depths of Erebor.  Each night he suffered that powerful grasp.  In the end he stopped going to bed altogether, but simply sought out a quiet nook to read by a fire, fighting sleep as long as he could.  It was here that Lord Elrond found him one night.

“Bilbo Baggins,” he said.  “I fear we do you harm with our hospitality.” 

Bilbo hurriedly closed his book.  “Why would you think so, Lord Elrond?” he asked.  “Everyone is so kind to me; truly, I would spend all my days here, if the Shire didn’t await me.”

Lord Elrond shook his head.  “I see you, Bilbo Baggins.  You have grown wan and you shake, even in daylight when making merry.  And as the evening falls, you creep away and shiver as if you face the Dragon once again.  You are not happy here.”

Bilbo looked away, out to the falling water.  He felt something brittle break inside at last.  “I am not happy anywhere,” he sobbed.  “Lord Elrond!” he cried, grasping the great Elf’s robes, “I cannot sleep!  I cannot sleep anywhere for dreaming!”

Elrond’s hands gently caressed Bilbo’s hair.  “Of what do you dream, Bilbo?” he asked.  “Do you dream of Smaug, though he is bested?  Of the terrible battle?”

 Bilbo shook his head and would not reply.  After a while, his breathing slowed; but Elrond, the lord of the great Elves of Rivendell, did not leave him nor sleep himself, only slowly stroked the Hobbit’s hair until first light, when he left to seek out Gandalf.

The next morning, Bilbo found himself called to counsel with Gandalf, and Lord Elrond, and a dark Elf he had not seen before, whose beauty was the moon in the night sky.  Her name, he learned, was Arwen; she was a healer, and the daughter of Lord Elrond.  She had something of the look of Elrond in her grace and manner, but her deep eyes seemed entirely her own.  She looked at Bilbo gravely; and he, for his part, tried not to stare.

 When they had all gathered in that sun-filled room, Lord Elrond turned to Gandalf.  “Mithrandir,” he said.  “You have made me a poor host.  You have brought this Hobbit to us, mortally wounded, and did not say so.  You have abandoned him to his pain.” 

 Gandalf pulled himself up to his full height, and the shadows momentarily grew darker in that place.  He drew breath to speak.  Elrond cocked his head, his eyebrows raised.  Gandalf deflated and the sun shone bright again.  He looked at Bilbo.

“I have not known what to do to help you, Bilbo,” he said.  “I had hoped this place would heal you, and in my cowardice I have stayed away.”  He bent down to look into Bilbo’s face.  “I see now how wrong I was.”

Bilbo tried to smile.  “You said if I came back, I would not be the same.  And so I am not, but there is much good among the bad.  Two lords of Elves have named me _eldandil_.” 

“And hope is not lost,” the Lady Arwen spoke for the first time.  Her voice was low and melodious, though Bilbo could not have said if he thought of bells or birds when she spoke, only that hearing her speak was like that long ago night, when he first heard the Dwarves sing of their mountain.  “Come, Bilbo,” she said, and Bilbo thought her look at her father and Gandalf arch.  “We will leave these two to discuss blame.  You and I will discuss how you might begin to heal.”  And with that, she led him from the room, down through the long corridors of that beautiful Elven home, until they reached the garden.  There, by a pool where water gathered before forming a glittering rill that flowed away down into the valley, she sat with him.

“Tell me,” she said.  “Do you think my father or Mithrandir will emerge the victor in their battle?”  And then, “Do you think the Mirkwood so lost in darkness, then?  I have heard that it has fallen far from what it was, when Men named it the Greenwood, and none feared its boughs.”  And thus did Bilbo’s days at the Last Homely House change.  There were still laughter and stories and music for Bilbo’s days, but he felt less frantic to seek them and found more joy in them; and every morning he spent only with Arwen.  They spoke of his journey, and how he found Dwarvish song and Elven food when compared to what Hobbits liked.  They spoke of the company, leaving none out.  And finally, they spoke of his dream.

“Why do you think it is, Bilbo,” Arwen asked him, “that out of all your perils, it is this one moment that haunts you?”  Her voice was light, merely curious, as when she asked if _cram_ were better dunked in ale or in mead, or best eaten dry.

“I do not know,” he said.  He did not.  “Perhaps it is because I trusted him.  I knew, though, how angered he would be.  The Arkenstone was his heart.”

“Hmm,” murmured Arwen. It was the same sound she made when he said that perhaps there would be snow later.

“He had shown his anger with me before,” Bilbo said.  “It was long into our journey before he saw me as anything besides useless.  But to be grasped so, and shaken like a rabbit, and held out over that cavern, which falls away so deep and dark, gems twinkling like stars in a night sky...  I was powerless in his hands, and they were the hands of a friend turned cruel foe.”

“And that is your dream,” Arwen said.

“Yes,” Bilbo agreed.  “That is my dream.”

That night, he dreamt, and the next; but on the third night, for the first time since Thorin had held him over that starry expanse, Bilbo slept and did not dream; or at least, his dreams had no power to wake him, and he did not remember them in the morn.  The next day Arwen cried to see his smile.

Bilbo and Arwen still met to speak of a morning, of subjects light or somber.  He still dreamt, on occasion, though as winter passed into spring those occasions grew fewer.  But finally, Gandalf had to leave; and though both Elrond and Arwen assured Bilbo that he was welcome to stay, Bilbo found that he thought more and more of the Shire in summer.  So one fine day, when new green graced the valley, Bilbo and Gandalf rode out of Rivendell and into the world once more. 

And though reaching the Shire brought its own trials, Bilbo was glad to be in his own Bag End.  His sleep there was often, if not always, peaceful.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visitors come to the Shire.

It was just a day or so past Afterlithe when Bilbo was called from his garden by his neighbour, Proudfoot the Younger. 

“Mr. Bilbo!” he called.  “Hate to bother you when you’re in the blackberry patch!  Only my Pris says there’s visitors comin’ down from Hobbiton to see you, and that they’re Dwarves!”

Bilbo sat back so that he would not fall over.  Dwarves in the Shire?  The company, of course; but who would it be?  He stood up and brushed off his clothes.

“Well, then, I’d best change out of my gardening clothes,” he said.  “Good day to you!”

Bilbo ran down into his Hobbit-hole and did change out of his worn and muddy clothes into his best waistcoat, but then he panicked, a little.  Who would it be, come to the Shire?  And how many had come?  Well.  Perhaps that, he could learn.  He stuck his head out the window by his front door.  As he suspected, a row of Proudfoot fauntlings sat along the fence across from his green door.

“Priscilla Proudfoot,” he said.  “Exactly how many Dwarves did you say were coming?”

“Two, Mr. Baggins,” she replied.  “Though Bramble Took says hundreds stayed behind at Bree!”

Bilbo snorted.  “Thank you kindly for the report, Miss Priscilla!”  And he tossed her a little mathom, a silver flower pin he’d been saving for his next birthday.  She squealed with joy.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Baggins!” she cried.

Two will be enough to feed, he thought as he pulled his head in the window.  Hundreds indeed!  Hundreds had best stay in Bree.  And he hurried to the pantry to see what might be had for an early tea.

So it was that when there was a knock on the door a short time later, blackberry crumble warmed in the oven, boiled eggs and cheeses (cheddar and Shire Blue) and a large sausage (or two) were on the table with a crusty bread, peach preserves, and cool butter, and Bilbo had just finished setting the table.  He set the tea to steep and went to answer.

Balin and Dwalin stood on his doorstep.  Though he had known Dwarves were coming (for all of half an hour! he thought), he still felt the shock.  They were the first two, he thought, that evening long ago.  He should say something, not stand speechless.

“Good day, Balin, Dwalin,” he said.

“At your service, Mr. Baggins,” they replied.  He waited.  They still stood on the step.

“Oh!  Where are my manners?” he cried.  “Come in, come in!  There’s tea brewing and dried sausage and that bread I remember you liked, Dwalin—you ate the whole loaf, as I recall—and blackberry crumble, and—why do you not call me Bilbo?  I do not think I have been Mr. Baggins to either of you for two years now.”

Tea was a calmer occasion than that Dwarven dinner two years past, though certainly louder than the Hobbit version of a tea party.  Bilbo was eager for news of the company.

“Tell me,” he said, “how everyone fares; and you must begin with Fili, who still slept when I left the mountain.  And Kili, who was so unhappy with me.”

Balin cleared his throat gently.  Bilbo blanched. 

“No, lad—I see what you’re thinking; Fili lives!  He lives!  Only,” here Balin exchanged looks with Dwalin, “he does not wake.”  Balin told Bilbo of how the Dwarven healers worked hard to keep Fili’s body alive, but had tried all they knew to wake him and none of it worked; and how Kili, once he was allowed to leave his own sickbed, spent hours sitting at Fili’s side, “telling him the most ridiculous stories about how handsome the lasses found him, and how Fili best wake up or he’d have no competition at all.”

“As for Kili,” Balin finished, “I think he does not think on his own injury for thinking of his brother.  He eats only to return to Fili’s bedside table.  He does not live, really; he simply waits for the day Fili sleeps no more.”

“Whether he wakes or slips away entirely,” Dwalin added.

“Aye,” Balin said.  “Should we lose Fili, we will be hard pressed to keep Kili from despair.”

Bilbo sat quietly for a moment. 

“Did he write?” he asked.  “He was so unhappy with me when I left.”

Balin and Dwalin looked at each other again.  This time, it was Dwalin who spoke. 

“None but Thorin, who sent us, know that we have come to you.  The rest think we go to the Elves.”

Bilbo sat back, disappointed.  “But why?  I should like to be able to send letters back with you, and I should have liked to read letters of my own.”

“When you left us, after the battle, Thorin thought...  Thorin did not know how you would receive us,” Dwalin said.  “And as you well know, he has a king’s pride.  We will take your letters back happily.  But he wouldn’t have the others’ hopes up should you send us away.”

Bilbo was quiet.  After a moment, he stood.  “I should check on the crumble before it burns,” he said, and retreated to the kitchen.

***

_Perhaps Bilbo had dreamed those hands would one day hold him close.  He knew Thorin was not always gentle; though lately, he had hoped gentleness was more than gratitude...  He was not prepared for those hands, that he had watched and maybe (he had not admitted it) wanted, to grasp him by the arms so tightly, so cruelly.  He would be bruised, he thought, but then he could hardly think at all.  The world flew back and forth and he thought he would be sick and Thorin’s face was twisted and ugly as he had never seen though he could hardly focus and then oh Valar the fall the sparkling dark oh do not let go, oh do not drop me, oh Valar, the glittering abyss...  His arms pinwheeling and his legs shaking and kicking, his feet off the ground; the hands holding him not kind, not gentle, hard and cruel, so cruel..._

Bilbo woke, as always after his dream, with his heart pounding and his nightclothes clinging to his body with cold sweat.  Oh, he thought.  He had been so scared.  He had forgotten that sometimes he dreamed of those hands before, when they were strong and gentle.  He would not name what ached in his chest.  He rolled over in his bed; though he lay awake until finally it was what could be called morning, when he went into the kitchen to start breakfast.  He had guests, after all.

Balin and Dwalin stayed for two happy weeks.  If perhaps Bilbo seemed a bit tired, and was always in the kitchen early, they had often talked late into the night and Bilbo was a consummate host.  Though they had no letters, they were happy to give Bilbo tidings of all his old friends.  Oin was chief of the healers who oversaw Fili and Kili’s care.  Thorin had thrown off his healers as soon as he could, and worked long days under the mountain.  Gloin, Bofur and Bifur were charged with opening and securing the long-abandoned mines, inspecting for damage, deciding on and overseeing repairs, and finally beginning the work of mining the veins once more.  It was a monumental task.  Dori and Bombur together managed to oversee the feeding and housing of the evergrowing number of dwarves flocking to Thorin’s kingdom.  Dain and many of the Dwarves of the Iron Hills had returned there, but some had chosen to stay; and more arrived everyday, it seemed, from all the corners of Middle Earth.  Word had spread that Dwarves ruled in Erebor once more.

“You do not mention Ori or Nori,” Bilbo scolded one evening as they sat by the fire. 

“Ah, Ori has become Thorin’s official historian and scribe,” Balin smiled broadly.  “I think that when he can, he writes in his book of our adventures; but Thorin keeps him busy enough with laws and decrees and negotiations.”

“He mutters about the library, too,” said Dwalin.  “One of these days you might show him where it is.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Balin laughed out loud.  “It’s in a terrible condition.  Thorin would get no more use from him for years.  He made me promise to keep it secret ‘till a year from this Durin’s Day.  At least!”

“By then, Ori will have found it on his own,” Bilbo guessed.

“Maybe,” Dwalin shrugged.  “It’s a ways out of the way, the library.”

Bilbo got up to offer his guests a biscuit or two.  Dwalin took four. 

“And Nori?” he asked.

Dwalin harrumphed.

Balin eyed his brother sternly.  “Nori’s work for Thorin is most necessary and vital,” he said.  “But quite secret.”

Dwalin harrumphed again.

Balin, of course, was Thorin’s wisest advisor; and Dwalin, his strong right arm.  Though neither said so, it was clear that he could not do without them for long.  So Bilbo was not surprised when at the end of the two weeks’ time, they came to say goodbye.

“We have not completed our commission to you as yet, lad,” Balin said.  Dwalin nodded curtly.  Bilbo secretly thought perhaps he was a touch sad to be going.  Bilbo was certainly sad to say farewell. 

“We have this for you.”  And while Balin handed Bilbo a fine sealed envelope, Dwalin placed a small chest on the floor.  And then he opened the door of Bilbo’s own house as if he owned it, and gestured in five more Dwarves carrying identical chests.  Bilbo wondered a bit hysterically if ninety-five more dwarves waited, bored, in Bree.  The envelope trembled in his hand.  One more of the company had known Balin and Dwalin’s true destination, after all.  Still, Bilbo could be brave, and it was merely paper.  He opened his letter.

 

_To Bilbo Baggins, esquire:_

_It has come to our attention that you were unable to carry the entirety of your contracted share of the profits of our venture with you upon your return to the shire.  We have dispatched these our representatives with some portion of that share.  You may receive the remainder of your share at any time upon your return to Erebor, in which kingdom you are of course welcome._

_Thorin, styled Oakenshield, King under the Mountain_

 

He looked at the six chests and then at Balin.  “I cannot accept this,” he said.

“You must,” Dwalin replied.  “He’ll kill us if we come back with it.”

Bilbo’s face went white; the parchment crumpled in his hand.

“Dwalin didn’t mean it that way,” Balin said gently.  “Lad, he wants you to have it.”

Bilbo opened one of the chests.  As he had thought, it was filled with gold coins. 

“And if I leave it in the middle of the Hobbiton market day for all Hobbits to come and help themselves?” he asked. 

“You must do as you think best with what is yours, “ replied Balin. 

Bilbo nodded.  “I will write,” he said.  He marched into his study, leaving Balin, Dwalin, five Dwarven strangers, and six chests of gold in his entry hall.

 

**Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain:**

**I am sure that I have all that I will need of treasure for a lifetime.  If you do not know what to do with my share, give it to the Wood Elves.**

**I only ask that you would send word of Fili and Kili as they heal.  I was greatly saddened to hear that Fili still does not wake.**

**Have you sent to the Elves?  When I was in Rivendell (on my journey home), I met with Lord Elrond’s daughter, who is a great healer.  I know they should send healers if you would ask.**

**I do not ask if you have sent to Thranduil, but I will say that he is much closer.  Perhaps they have celebrated healers as well.  Do you not think that you could, for Fili’s sake?**

**Bilbo Baggins**

 

 

He sealed the envelope and returned to Balin and Dwalin.  He handed the letter to Balin.  Dwalin cleared his throat.

“We could wait a day or so, if need be,” he said.

Bilbo smiled sadly.  “I always have need of such good friends,” he said.

“Lad,” Balin said slowly.  “There is one last task we have.”  He straightened.  “As official envoys of his majesty Thorin the second, styled Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, we—“

“No,” Bilbo said.

“But lad,” Balin tried.

“No,” Bilbo said again.  “I will miss you all dreadfully, though.  Should you come this way again, please bring more letters.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another visit brings another letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that this chapter is so short; it was either break shorter than I wanted or much longer than I wanted. I have increased the chapter count accordingly, and there will be another chapter tomorrow!

 

Though Bilbo had pressed Balin and Dwalin to return if they could, still it was a shock to open his door one Thrimich morning to find them there again.  This time he had no warning from the neighbours, simply two Dwarves and a small wooden chest on the doorstep, just in time for elevenses.

Bilbo opened the door wide.  “Good morning!” he said.  “How do you always know to arrive in time for the meal?”

Dwalin laughed his gruff laugh.  “With Hobbits, if the meal’s not about to begin, wait half an hour.”

 The Dwarves looked askance at his green salad, but quite happily ate scones and goat cheese instead.  Bilbo pulled down the last of the preserves: tomato, currant, blackberry, and peach; he found some fall apples left in the bushel in the cellar and a bit of smoked fish behind the onions.  Luckily he had been to market just the day before; he had two of Dwalin’s favorite crusty breads.  At last the table was ready, and they set to with hearty appetites.  Bilbo, of course, wanted all the news of the company.  Balin patted his coat pocket.

“We’ve letters for you this time,” he said.  “Everyone wrote one, though I think Bifur had to tell Bofur what to write onto the end of his.”

“But you will not make me wait for the most important news, will you?”  Bilbo asked.  “What of Fili?”

Balin shook his head.  “No change,” he said.  “Here.”  He handed Bilbo the small stack of letters.  “I can see you won’t be a bit of good until you read them.”

With great difficulty, Bilbo took the letters to his study and returned. 

“Nonsense,” he said.  “Letters, of course, are to be enjoyed; but not while with guests.  I will read them later.”

And they did have a merry time indeed, though Bilbo’s mind often returned to the letters stacked neatly on his desk.  The one on top bore a king’s seal.

Later, after Balin and Dwalin had retired for the evening, Bilbo opened Thorin’s letter.

 

 

_To Bilbo Baggins, esquire:_

_Another portion of your share is sent here.  If gold is not to your taste, then perhaps such various stones as our mines produce may tempt you forth. Many more such as these await you, and will await you in Erebor for perpetuity, for we shall certainly not send any to the Elves._

_Kili heals apace, and I believe Balin carries a letter from him for you._

_Still Fili does not wake._

_I did, however, send to Lord Elrond to ask for an Elven healer, as soon as one could come.  You are right to say that I could never ask for nor accept help from Thranduil, but I was stupid not to think of Elrond.  He was kinder than he might have been to a pack of surly Dwarves.  And, of course, a Gentlehobbit.  His daughter arrived a month ago.  She is wise and gentle, and has given us new hope for Fili’s fate._

_Thorin, King under the Mountain_

 

 

Bilbo sighed, and picked up his pen.

 

**Thorin,**

**I am sure that Arwen will do her best for Fili.  I do not know what the thoughts of a simple Hobbit might do, but I think on him often.  It seems too cruel that he should be strong enough to last this long and yet not wake.  I am sure he will, and soon.**

**I am glad to hear that Kili continues to heal so well, and to adjust to his new circumstance.  I must admit, it is hard for me to imagine a Kili without a bow; but his archery is not all that there is to Kili.  May he find new strengths within himself.**

**Balin and Dwalin have convinced me that you will not take back this chest either, though I wish you would.  When I think on Fili and Kili’s fates, well--  It seems too like blood money; I have survived to come home to my Shire without a scratch upon me.  Shall I take from you your treasure when you have almost lost your nephews as well?  It hurts me to think that I should.**

**Bilbo**

 

 

He read the letters of the company, and answered them, late into the night.  Perhaps if I am very tired when I go to bed, he thought, I will not dream tonight.  He frowned a bit to see that there was no letter from Kili after all.  He wrote to him anyway.  Still, most days found him in the kitchen making breakfast very early indeed.  His dream seemed to come to visit with the Dwarves.

This time, the Dwarves stayed barely a week.  Bilbo did his best to convince them to stay longer, but Balin said they could not, and Dwalin merely shrugged.

“You must see how important ‘tis to Thorin, lad,” Balin said, “that he sends us.  The travelling to and from keeps us away from the mountain nearly a quarter of the year.  We cannot stay to visit long.”

 Bilbo nodded sadly.  “I do see,” he said.  “Of course he cannot do without you.  I am quite lucky to have had you at all, I know; only I miss you so when you are gone!  And it seems as if the rest of the company should just be sitting out of sight in the parlour!” Impulsively, Bilbo hugged both Dwarves hard.  Balin seemed rather touched.  Dwalin turned red as the ripest cherry.

“I shall not see you again soon, shall I?” Bilbo asked as he walked the Dwarves to the gate.

 Balin shook his head.  “I think not,” he said.  He winked.  “Which is not to say that you shall not have company.”

And indeed, on the first day of Halimath, Bilbo came down from picking apples in his garden to find Bifur, Bofur, and Ori at the gate.  Bilbo dropped his basket and raced down the hill.  He found he was laughing and crying both as he greeted the Dwarves (he very narrowly avoided Bifur’s attempt to hit their foreheads together).  Bofur, too, seemed joyous; and Ori pleased and proud to have been commissioned to make the journey—and without his brothers, too!  Bilbo waved them all inside for tea.  After Bofur translated some of Bifur’s hand signs, Bilbo came back out again and rescued some of the apples he had dropped.  The least bruised ones could be served with cream—or maybe cheese—now; and if he cut out the bruises on the worst ones, they’d still have enough for a nice pie or two with dinner.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo receives some new visitors with good news, and Thorin tries a slightly different tack.

 

After tea, Ori was pleased to show Bilbo several drawings he had been making of the company and of their adventures.  He gifted Bilbo with a portrait of himself, which Bilbo found immensely flattering.  He was really quite touched to see these three Dwarves again.  He hoped they could visit for a while, but knew from Balin and Dwalin that Thorin relied quite as much on these three as he did on the previous two.  Perhaps he has Balin and Dwalin back now, though; he can spare these to me, he thought.  Bofur had become a close friend, and he was so fond of young Ori.  Even Bifur, with whom it was so hard to communicate, had found a way into Bilbo’s heart.  Perhaps it was simply the time spent with both the cousins, listening to one side of Bifur and Bofur’s conversations.  With a smile, he turned his wandering thoughts back to Ori’s boasting description of the importance of his work.  He was so glad that they were here.

Later, Bofur gave Bilbo the expected stack of letters and one small box, about the size of a book.  The box was made of a deeply polished wood, almost black, and covered in designs of diamond and a gleaming metal inlay.  Bilbo thought perhaps the metal was mithril.  He looked curiously at the box, then at Bofur.  Bofur smiled wryly, and pointed his pipe at the topmost letter, the one with the king’s seal.

 

 

_Bilbo, rejoice with me!  For Fili is awake!_

_Not long after I had sent Balin and Dwalin to you last, Fili finally responded to one of the Lady Arwen’s medicines.  Long and tirelessly has she toiled on his behalf, and I am grateful to her beyond what I can express.  When next you see her, I ask that you admire a certain mithril ornament in her hair; that token was all she would take in thanks, but it suits her well, I think.  I crafted it myself._

_And my gratitude to you is endless, that you would think of Fili, and shake a stupid, stubborn Dwarf out of his grief long enough to see that there could be hope, should he be willing to humble himself to ask for help.  It pains me to write it, but Elrond was as gracious in his response to my pleas as his daughter._

_It hurts me more to realize that I could not have asked Thranduil for help, not if I had known that Fili would wake the next day if I had.  I am too full of pride, and pride is worthless when measured against a brave and loyal nephew._

_You, of all who know me, know my weakness there.  I have always been too proud and stubbornly resentful._

_On occasion, I spoke of you with the Lady Arwen, and she has convinced me that I have sent you your share in the wrong way.  Bofur, then, as my representative here, brings a portion of your share that is in a form I hope you may enjoy.  I believe you once spoke of your expertise therein._

_Yours, Thorin_

_I must ask it again.  Will you not return to the mountain?_

 

Bilbo gingerly opened the wooden box.  Slowly, he began to chuckle, and then to laugh and laugh, until all Bag End was filled with the joyous sound.

 

 

**Thorin,**

**What am I to do with a diamond conkers set?  No one will play their simple horse chestnuts against that!  Though I will say they look quite lovely where I have hung them in the kitchen window.  My cousin’s wife Lobelia is beside herself with jealousy, and I do believe that suits me.  I have not told you before:  on my return to the Shire, I discovered that I had been declared dead; my belongings were being auctioned off on the spot, and cousin Otho and his awful wife (the aforementioned Lobelia) were preparing to move into Bag End.  She had pushed for it all, of course.  So if she turns a bit green when she comes to tea, well, it’s about the only enjoyment I have in tea with Lobelia.  I do wish she wouldn’t come.**

**But why do I write about conkers and Lobelia?  I am so gladdened to hear about Fili!  I confess, I might have done a small jig about the smial when I read that.  I am so happy to think it:  Fili awake!  You must write me more of his recovery.  I knew that Arwen could help.  Ha!  I will shout for joy!  Fili, awake!**

**But while you must write and you may send me all the visiting Dwarrows you can spare, please send no more treasure.  I have no use for it; indeed, even the lovely conkers set in my window.**

**And I do not think that I can come to the mountain.**

**I am sorry.**

**Bilbo**

 

 

Bofur, Bifur, and Ori could stay for a month, no longer.  Even at that, the end of their return journey might be very bitter indeed as winter came on.  They had to reach the mountain by Yule at the very latest, or risk being trapped on the road by snow and ice.  Still, Bilbo was glad to have them for as long as they could stay, and fall in the Shire was glorious for visiting.  Ori drew many pictures and took many notes for a book he said he was writing about Hobbits, though Bilbo noticed somewhat nervously the pictures were mostly of Bag End and himself.  Bifur seemed content to sit in the garden, and proved to be inordinately fond of apples in any and all forms.  As for Bofur, he and Bilbo talked long about his new home in Erebor.

“I don’t know when I will become accustomed to it,” Bofur said.  “I lived on the road so long, with nowhere that was home; and now I am in one place to stay, and it is all I could wish.  But I just can’t get used to it.  Travelling to see you was a bit like putting on an old jacket.  It’s all patched and worn, but it feels soft and welcoming instead of stiff on yer body.”  He shrugged.  “Still, I wouldn’t trade it.  Just strange, to find an old toymaker like me, living in a Dwarven legend like Erebor.”

Bilbo smiled.  “A Dwarven home is very different from a Hobbit home,” he said. 

Bofur looked at him curiously, his wise brown eyes crinkled at the edges.  “Not that different, I think,” he said.

Shortly before the Dwarves were to go, Bilbo drew Bofur aside.  “How is Kili, truly?  I am glad his body has healed; only, he does not write.”

Bofur frowned.  “Didn’t he?  The rascal said he had given it to Ori, but Ori gave all his letters to me...” Bilbo shook his head.

“Nor last time,” he said.

“Well, before Fili woke, I’m not surprised,” Bofur said.  “He did nothing but pester the healers and get in their way and generally break everyone’s hearts with his care for Fili then.  But after... Fili has been recovering well, and shouted Kili away for hovering.  I thought Kili would have written.  He has seemed to be more involved in the life of the mountain.”  Bofur looked thoughtful.  “I have not seen him training at arms, but I suppose I thought he was still healing.  Even one-armed, he could still be a doughty fighter.”

“It does not matter,” Bilbo said.  “But I have written him, and you must promise me he will read it if you must threaten his sorry beard.  I will not have it.  He is still my friend.”


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo comes to a realization after his visitors return. Thorin ups the ante.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize again for a short chapter; if you like, wait for tomorrow's update and read them together. I just didn't have an easy time breaking this part into sections.

 

As the year turned and Thrimich approached again, Bilbo found that though he told himself not to hope, still he bought too much food for just himself at market and spent too much time with his head over the gate looking down the road.  But Thrimich came and went with no Dwarven visitors.  _No good comes to those who expect Dwarves,_ he told himself glumly.  Somehow they only come by surprise.  He had not entirely given up hope, however; and was rather in the habit now of buying too much at market, so he was not entirely unprepared when one Forelithe day brought Bofur, Bifur, and Ori back to his door.  He was rather taken aback to see that Thorin had reverted to sending a wooden chest, perhaps a bit larger than the last.

“Don’t look like that,” Bofur warned.  “We’ll think you aren’t glad to see us!”

Bilbo made a face at him.  “I am; of course I am—yes, yes, come in—no, not there, this way—“ he said as they manuevered the chest through his round door.  “But I thought he was done with chests of gold coins and gems like robin’s eggs.”

“That’s between you and him,” Bofur grinned, handing over his pile of letters.  “No one smart’s getting in the middle of that.”

 

_Bilbo:_

_You will be glad to know that Fili is recovered enough to take up his duties as heir to this throne.  It is very different for him than what his life was before, but I think he does well.  I cannot regret my pride in him, though I do not often have the words to tell him._

_Kili as well has been pressed into labor, though he is still as like to jokes as to steady counsel.  On occasion he has proven rather wise.  I have great hope in him that he will grow into his role as support to Fili when I am gone.  He is still young, and his mischief brings some needed joy to the mountain._

_I know that you said that you needed no more treasure, but this is not a new gift but a completion of one from before.  I gave you, in the mountain, some mithril armor; but it was not a complete set.  Lately I have found the helmet, greaves, and gauntlets that should accompany that chain.  The set was mine in my youth, before my full growth; I believe it should fit you.  I do not demand it; I only ask.  Please take it._

_I remember how pretty was your green Shire, but surely there are beauties in Erebor to equal it?  I cannot send you but bits and drabbles of the company at a time, and those who are not sent will soon revolt.  My throne is in your hands, as you see._

_We would all be gladdened to see you.  Will you not consider it?  A short trip, even; please, Bilbo, please._

_Please return to Erebor._

_Ever yours, Thorin_

_Most unwillingly do I pass on the greetings of Thranduil, Elfking.  I see far more of him than I should like, but it seems we must trade with the Elves as well as the Men.  Balin would not lie to me else I would not believe it.  He also would welcome you to the dismal Mirkwood.  I should not go if I were you._

 

If Bilbo’s hand shook as he penned his reply, none knew.

**I am so sorry, but I cannot.  I cannot come back to the mountain.**

 

Bilbo’s Dwarven visitors stayed through Mid-year’s Day, but began the return trip to Erebor on Afterlithe.  Though his eyes were reddened that last morning; it was with tears, not lack of sleep.  This time he had dreamed seldom, only at the beginning, really.  He had lain in his bed, staring at his ceiling, remembering the feeling of being roughly shaken by strong hands.  He wondered why he could write to Thorin the way he did.  They were not two separate entities, and he knew it.  The King under the Mountain who had sent him diamond conkers was the same one who had threatened his life.  Thorin was both.  And he had forgiven him, he had thought, on that day he left the mountain; but perhaps he had not forgiven as much as he thought.  If he had betrayed Thorin, he had been betrayed in turn.  Did he forgive Thorin, if he could not forget?  The thought of returning to the mountain was every bit as fearsome to him as it had been when he left.  He believed Thorin regretted what he had done, though he did not say it; but Bilbo feared him still.  He had loved him, he admitted finally; he had loved Thorin, his strength, his courage, his dedication to his duty, his beauty, yes; he would never have spoken, as Thorin was as far above and away from him as a star.  But he had loved, and then his fear had been as great as his love; and his love could not stand against it.

And then it was one chilly evening in Foreyule; and it was Fili and Kili at his door.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of Bilbo's young visitors is not quite the Dwarf he was before the battle for Erebor.

 

When Bilbo had seen Fili last, he had seemed smaller than himself, quiet and still as he lay in the healer’s tent.  Bilbo’s heart swelled to see him now.  Fili had always carried himself with confidence; but now it seemed less cocky, more majestic.  He has Thorin’s bearing, Bilbo realized with a pang.  His travelling clothes were perhaps a bit richer than they had been, but not ostentatious, and he did not wear a coronet or have gems decorating his braids.  Still, Bilbo thought no one could think him anything but a Dwarven prince.  His every aspect commanded respect.

“Mr.  Baggins,”  he said with a smile and a bow.  “At your service.”

Kili bowed in tandem, as they had done that night so long ago.  Did they practice that? Bilbo wondered through his tears.  “Kili, at your service.”

“Oh, boys,” Bilbo cried.  He wrapped them in his arms.  These dear, dear boys!  After a moment, they squirmed like tweens; but he would not let them go.

Though it was past any mealtime, Dwarves and Hobbits can always eat; and Fili and Kili were hungry from the road.  They had pushed hard that day in order to arrive before the morrow.  Luckily, Bilbo had made a roast for dinner, with the thought that the leftovers would serve him well for several days of sandwiches.  Fili and Kili finished it off in what seemed only moments.  Bilbo headed back to the pantry to see what he could find.  When he returned, there was a small wooden chest on the table.  This one was the size of a large book, patterned with a rainbow of gemmed flowers set in gold inlay. 

Bilbo sighed.  “Still?” he sighed.  He picked up the chest and carried it to his study.  Time enough for that later.  “And what of my letters?” he demanded.  “For if you have none, I shall send you back to the mountain to get some.”

***

If Fili had a new majesty to his bearing, he was still the same Fili.  He bounded around the smial and the garden.  He rode his pony into Bree and came back with two small kegs of ale strapped to its sides, then insisted on tapping one immediately.  He raided the pantry for sweets and he hinted incessantly about Yule presents.  He danced Bilbo round the dining table as he crowed that they were to stay for the whole winter. 

After a few days, however, Bilbo had noted that the same could not be said for Kili.  Kili was quieter than he had been.  He let Fili speak without teasing him; and when he did tease, it seemed false and somehow hollow.  His smile was strained and sometimes bitter.  In the shadows of the evening fire, Kili seemed more than simply tired.  He moved gracefully still, as if he had become accustomed to the loss of his arm, but all was not well with Kili. 

It was market day in Hobbiton when Bilbo realized something must be done.  With two young Dwarves eating through his pantry, Bilbo needed to go to market, so Fili and Kili must entertain themselves.  Fili attempted to convince Kili to come along to the market.  Kili sullenly refused.

“Come, Kili,” Fili coaxed.  “You have been so dull lately; let us go see the Hobbits bustle about!”

Kili exploded.  “I care not about Hobbits!  Go do as you like, for I do not need your permission or your company to do as I will!”  And he was out the door and down the road on his pony before Bilbo knew what to say.  The look on Fili’s face was heartbreaking.  Bilbo sighed.  He guided a shocked Fili into the sitting room.

“Wait here,” he commanded, then went next door.  Perhaps Priscilla Proudfoot might run to the market for him, for he would clearly not go today.

On his return, Fili still sat, looking out the window at the road as if he hoped Kili would canter back at any minute.

“How long has he been so wounded inside?” Bilbo asked.

Fili shook his head.  “He was as granite for me when I woke from my year’s sleep as weak as a Dwarfling, and everyone told me how he had never left my side all the while I slept.  He has thrown himself into the rebuilding of Erebor.  Not many would take the loss of a shield arm without moans of their loss, but Kili never complains.  He is the strongest Dwarf I know, excepting only Uncle, perhaps.”

“Nevertheless,” Bilbo said.  “He is bleeding inside, and it has not healed.”

***

When Kili returned, he was quiet.  He squeezed Fili’s shoulder, and that seemed all he needed to do to receive a smile of forgiveness in return.  Kili met Bilbo’s eyes only once, but seemed unable to address whatever questions he saw there.  He avoided Bilbo’s gaze the remainder of the afternoon.  Bilbo thought on what to do.  Whatever must be said, Fili could not be there; so after tea Bilbo sent him with his pony and the cart to retrieve the market shopping from the Proudfoots.  He might have given him directions that were just the slightest bit wrong.  Bilbo was confident that Fili would find the Proudfoots eventually.  In the meanwhile, Bilbo would deal with Kili.

He began by asking Kili to help him with cleaning up after tea.  When Kili was up to his elbow in soapy dishwater, Bilbo struck.

“I still dream of it, you know; of being held over that long fall from the Gate into the depths of Erebor.  I will not let it be all that I am, but it will always be with me.  And I can see that you are haunted in the same way, Kili.”

Kili’s hand stilled on the dishes.  “You planned this,” he said.

“I thought you would not speak with Fili here,” Bilbo said.  He leaned against the counter next to the sink.

Kili nodded, then handed the next plate to Bilbo to dry.  “You were right,” he said.  He did not say anything else, but continued to wash the dishes.

Bilbo sighed.  “You may choose not to speak of it to me, either; but you must speak of it, Kili; it festers inside you.”  He took another dish from Kili.  “When Gandalf came to my home with thirteen Dwarves on that night, he told me that I would not be the same if I should return to Bag End one day.  And I’m not the same; and there’s good and bad in that.  But I would not take it back if I could.  How could I?”

Kili set down the dish in his hand.  “We are different there, then.  I wish I could take back that day.  I would stay a callow homeless youth with both arms forever if the choice were mine.  I would rather be dead than one-armed and useless.”  He tried to flee the kitchen but Bilbo was ready.  He caught Kili in his arms.

“Shh,” he soothed.  “I would not wish it nor any who love you, and that is a great many.  Your arm is not all you are.”

Kili only leant on his shoulder and sobbed.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yule comes to the Shire. Thorin has sent Bilbo a little present.

 

Fili did find the Proudfoots and return with the marketing, eventually; and Bilbo endured the teasing he had known would come with his bad directions.  Fili did not notice Kili’s quiet or his reddened eyes.  Dwarves, Bilbo decided, were oblivious creatures.  It was no wonder Kili’s pain had been allowed to grow unchecked in the mountain.  Dwarves kept rocks where they should keep their eyes and their brains.

 Still, something changed between Bilbo and Kili that day.  Kili was still quiet, but he seemed to seek Bilbo’s company more.  He smiled less; but when he did smile it seemed sincere.  For his part, Bilbo sought to be for Kili what Arwen had been for him, a caring heart and open ear.  Kili, however, for all the time he spent with Bilbo, did not seem to have much to say.

Fili, however loud himself, eventually noticed Kili’s quiet.  Yule was coming on, and Fili bustled about with decorations and secret plans for presents in which he tried to involve Kili.  He seemed hurt when Kili would not be drawn, but they celebrated a happy Yule nonetheless.  Bilbo had given Kili a chess set, carved with Dwarves and Elves and Men as the pieces.

“No Hobbits?”  Kili had asked with his small smile.

“Alas,” Bilbo had replied.  “There are no burglars in chess.”

“I do not know how to play,” Kili said.

Bilbo smiled.  “Then I shall teach you before you go, and you shall trounce all Erebor upon your return,” he said.

To Fili, Bilbo gave a set of handkerchiefs, embroidered round with flowers in silk thread, and laughed to see his face.  More, Kili laughed, and that had been the goal.

But then, Fili exchanged a look with Kili, and drew a breath. 

"You have not opened Uncle’s gift,” he said.  “This seems an appropriate time.”  He stood.  “I think I saw you take it...” he trailed away into the study, and Bilbo could hear him rummaging about.  Bilbo might have piled some books on top of it so he didn’t have to look at it.  Soon enough, however, Fili returned.  He set the chest in front of Bilbo, and drew a letter from his coat.

Bilbo looked warily at the chest in front of him.  Both Fili and Kili seemed unnaturally tense.  Fili handed him the letter.  Kili stood.

“I am tired,” he said.  “Perhaps I will retire—“

“Sit,” Bilbo said.  “What is this?”

Fili pointed to the letter.

Bilbo gave him a long look, then set the letter aside.  He opened the box.  Inside, nestled into Durin blue velvet, lay the Arkenstone.  Struck dumb, Bilbo looked to Fili, then Kili.

With shaking hands, Bilbo slammed the lid of the box shut.

 

_My dearest Bilbo,_

_How kind you are to forgive me.  I cannot forgive myself.  I still frighten you.  You write to me in friendship, but you will keep half of Middle Earth between us.  It is both just and wise of you; it is only that it tears me apart to know it._

_When the gold madness was upon me, I hardly saw beyond it; and the Dragon’s influence was heavy on me.  I was infected with greed and lusted after the Arkenstone until I knew nothing else.  The seed of it was in me, however; for while the other Dwarves had some of the gold longing, none was so bad as I; and you, my friend, were entirely unaffected by the spell of the Dragon’s hoard.  That I laid hands upon you in the madness will always be the greatest shame of my life.  I am grateful forever that Gandalf was there to save you.  I grieve forever that it was I who threatened you._

_It is a weak and sorry apology that I offer to you.  Would that you would take more of me.  This is the last thing I will ask that you will have from me._

_Once I longed for it with everything I was.  Still I find it the most beautiful thing in the mountain, but I fear it and the hold it has on my Durin blood.  I would know that it was in good hands and a green setting.  And you will help me, you see, for I shall be safe from its call.  I give it into your hands, to do with as you will; only do not send it back to me.  I will not have it back._

_It is not right that I ask of you again what you cannot give.  It is only just that I should never see your bright face again.  Only know, it is always a very lonely mountain without you._

_Should you ever have need, know that the House of Durin remains at your service._

_Ever yours, Thorin_

 

That night Bilbo’s dream came for the first time in months.  _Held in powerful hands, shaken, over that terrible, beautiful chasm—_ The next day he tried to write to Thorin, but he did not believe that he could possibly find words to express himself.  He shut himself in his study all morning, staring at that lovely box as if it would be able to tell him what to do.  He did not emerge until luncheon, when Fili and Kili took one look at his discombobulated state and began to laugh.

“I wish Ori were here to draw you,” Fili said.  “It would be worth all the bother Uncle put us through deciding to do that.”  He tilted his head towards the study, towards that forsaken rock.

“I cannot—“ Bilbo began.  “He cannot have done this!”

Kili grinned.  “And yet,” he said.  “he has!”

Bilbo turned to Fili.  “You will take it back.  This is unimaginable and you will take it back.”  Fili only lifted his hands and shrugged.

“Not me,” he said.  “I was given direction not by my uncle but by my king.”

Bilbo turned to Kili.  Kili only laughed.  At least, Bilbo thought grumpily, Kili is laughing properly again.  This madness is good for one thing.

****

**Have you gone mad, Thorin?  I am a simple Hobbit; it is the Heart of the Mountain!  How can I keep it?  You have surpassed yourself in ridiculousness. ~~I am sending it back.~~**

**Fili says he will not take it, not if he has to live in the Shire the rest of his life to convince me.  Oh Thorin, what have you done?**

**I wish that I could be other than I am.  I regret deeply all that I did to injure you, ~~and this—gift—if it can be called so—seems so—I.~~   I am but a weak Hobbit.  The fault is not yours; at least, not yours alone.**

**Bilbo**

Bilbo admitted to himself now that though he had protested, he had secretly thought that he had deserved some share in Erebor’s treasure, for faced with what he did not deserve and could not possibly keep, he fought hard to convince Fili to change his mind.  It was clear that it was Fili that he must convince.  In this, he saw again Fili’s new maturity in his mantle as Thorin’s heir.  Fili was sympathetic, but he was implacable.  He faced Bilbo’s arguments unswervingly and though always polite, he would not be moved.  His uncle the King had spoken.  The Arkenstone was Bilbo’s.

Finally Bilbo made a tactical retreat.  He turned to Kili. 

Kili was no easier to convince.

He had the added argument of not being the heir; he referred always to Fili.  He could not do what Fili would not.  Bilbo wheedled and pleaded and yelled and made no inroads at all.  Neither of them would take it.  He considered hiding it in their bags when they left; he thought it might be the only way to send it home to the mountain.  The boys were immovable.

He did think that the battle was good for Kili.  He seemed to enjoy the arguments, to lose his troubles in the back and forth.  Bilbo smiled to see it, and thought that at least bringing the blasted and bothered thing here had given Kili some happiness.  It was then he realized he had lost, though he did not admit it.  Oh, his heart.  How he loved these boys—these admirable Dwarves they grew to be.

***

Almost a month had gone by since Yule.  The Arkenstone arguments had died down, though all knew the truce would fall when Fili and Kili readied for their departure.  Fili had taken to rising early to ride his pony each morning; he said he would miss the Shire when they left.

“Though if our Hobbit would come back to the mountain, I wouldn’t have to, for the best of the Shire would be there,” he teased.

Bilbo had risen early, as he always did after a dream.  He was startled to find Kili in the sitting room, a blanket over his knees.  He seemed very young in the dawn light.

“Good morning, Kili,” Bilbo said.  “Did you sleep well?”  He moved to the kitchen to put on the kettle, then returned.  Kili had not moved.  He did not even seem to have heard Bilbo.  “Kili?” he asked.  “Did Fili wake you when he left?”

Kili turned to face him.  “Yes,” he said.  He searched Bilbo’s face.  “You dreamed last night,” he said.  “Your bad dream.”

Bilbo nodded.  “I did,” he said.  “It comes less these days, but sometimes I dream it still.”  He moved to sit by Kili.  “I find the early morning helps, after.  It seems to fade with daylight.”  They sat in comfortable silence for a time, until the kettle whistled.  Bilbo began to rise.  Kili grabbed his arm.

 “I dream,” he said.  “I dream of having both my arms, of shooting my bow.”  His grip tightened.  “In my dreams, I am whole again; and I never want to wake.”

Bilbo felt the tears gather and fall.  “Ah, Kili,” he said.  “You are stronger than I.  Look at how you live in spite of it.”  Kili shook his head.

“I am not,” he whispered.  “I am not strong.”

Bilbo took Kili’s chin in his hand and turned his face to him.  “You are,” he said.

“Bilbo,” Kili’s voice trembled.  “I cannot do it.”

Bilbo smiled.  “Kili,” he said.  “You _are_ doing it.”


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili and Kili must leave for the mountain; Bilbo comes to a decision.

 

This was the first time Bilbo had ever dreaded the coming of spring.  Usually he looked forward to the first crocuses, and then the daffodils, asparagus and new greens and the flowering trees.  This year, as snow melt turned the Shire muddy, and muddy brown turned to new green grass, Bilbo wished the season would turn back again, that he might have another winter with his dear boys.  Wishes would not hold back the changing season, however; and the day came when Fili and Kili must return to the mountain.

The brothers, too, seemed reluctant to say goodbye.  Fili looked into his eyes, strong and searching, and said, “You know we will miss you dearly, don’t you?  I wish I knew when Uncle could spare us again for so long.  We will come back when we can.  As soon as we can.”

Kili said nothing, just looked _so_. Bilbo was lost.  Why must Kili always break his heart?  But then Kili held him tight with his one arm, and whispered in his ear, “You have given me hope, Bilbo.  I will think on you, and I will try.”

Bilbo stood at the gate to wave them all the way down the road and did not care if all Hobbiton saw him crying.  His boys were leaving him.

That spring was quiet.  Bilbo had become accustomed to a smial filled with good spirits and occasional rowdiness and simply with life.  He missed Fili and Kili more than he could say.  He thought about Fili’s growing maturity, of Kili’s bravery as he faced the loss of his arm.  Here he was, a Hobbit of middle age.  He had allowed one moment to stop his life so utterly; he continued to live, he knew; he also knew that he continued to hide.  Did he still fear Thorin so?  Would he let that fear keep him from his good friends, one of whom _was_ Thorin?  When he had faced the Dragon Smaug, alone with no protection but his ring?  He fretted it over and over again through that whole lonely spring.  He made up his mind to go.  He couldn’t go.  He would go.  He didn’t think he would after all.  Over and behind it all loomed the Arkenstone.  He had taken it from Thorin once before; but truly, it did not belong to him.  It seemed as out of place in Bag End as Arwen would with Hobbit feet.  If he could go to Erebor, he could return it to where it belonged.  Sometimes he opened the box by the fire’s glow in the evening; the Arkenstone shone brighter and more beautiful.  He felt its pull, of course he did; but it did not belong to him.

Finally Bilbo thought on it no longer, only got out of his bed one morning and began to pack.  He was ready by elevenses, and just looking around to think if he had forgotten anything, when there was a knock at the door.  _It would be Dwarves come to me,_ he thought, _just when I have made up my mind to go to them._   But when he went to answer the door it was Gandalf. 

“How did you know?” Bilbo demanded, but Gandalf would only look mysterious and he would not answer.  Bilbo pestered him, but was glad not to travel alone.

***

The journey to Erebor seemed to fly.  Bilbo was not precisely eager to arrive, but neither did he care to dawdle on the journey; and since they encountered neither Trolls nor Orcs nor Goblins nor any other difficulty, they were soon at Rivendell, though they did not stay long.

Bilbo and Arwen were very glad to see each other, and Bilbo did admire the ornament in her hair.  It matched the box in which his conkers set had come. 

“I am not sure I can go all the way to the Gate of Erebor,” Bilbo confessed to her.  “I have only told myself that I will go each day as far as I can go that day.”

Arwen laughed.  “It is all any of us can do,” she said, “to take each day as it comes.  I believe you are stronger than you know.”  When they said their goodbyes, Bilbo promised to try his best to believe it too.

They did not stop more than one night with Beorn, but pressed on.  Bilbo was beginning to feel the journey gaining a momentum that he could not stop.  Until this point, he had told himself he would go at least to Rivendell.  That had been easy; and crossing the mountains to Beorn’s not much harder.  But now the Mirkwood lay ahead, and Bilbo had no fond memories there.  Past the Mirkwood there was only Dale and then Erebor.  He could not pretend he had come so far only to go to Dale.

The Mirkwood, however, was not entirely as Bilbo remembered.  It was still dark; but it was gloomy, not oppressive, and it seemed possible to have a fire at night without many watching eyes and enourmous moths.  Bilbo sometimes saw movement in the forest in the day, but it seemed to be merely wildlife, not any sinister creature.  There were no spider webs.  At times Bilbo heard birdsong.

“It comes back to itself, a bit,” said Gandalf.  “The Greenwood as was, before it was Mirkwood.”

Several days into the woods, they encountered a group of Elves. 

“Mithrandir, _eldandil_ ,” their leader said.  “Our king requests that you will come to visit him, if you will come through the Mirkwood.”  Gandalf bowed graciously.  Bilbo thought they were not prisoners, but neither did it seem that they could say that they would rather not visit the Elf-king.  Still, travelling with the Elves was the fastest way through the forest by far.

Thranduil remained as majestic as always.  He seemed happy, in his way, to see Bilbo and Gandalf; though he set himself more apart than Lord Elrond.  He seemed pleased to hear that they found the Mirkwood changed; he admitted it had been with some difficulty they had chased out the last of the spiders.

“They were not hard to kill, when they could be found; but they knew how to hide well and they were many in number.”  He seemed a bit ashamed for a moment.  “We allowed their presence here for too long.”  He rallied.  “Still, they are gone now; and as you say, Mirkwood is better than it was.”  His keen eyes searched out Bilbo; Bilbo did not know what he saw, but Thranduil nodded, seeming satisfied.  He gestured forth a handsome Elf who stood at attention at his side.  “My son Legolas has business in Erebor.  He will accompany you for the remainder of your journey.”

Then Thranduil leaned forward, mischievous and young as Bilbo had never seen him.  “Let us go in to the feast that has been laid, and we shall speculate on how thirteen Dwarves might have escaped from my dungeon, shall we?”  He looked first to Gandalf, then to Bilbo.  Bilbo felt his face heat.  This might be an awkward meal.

 Legolas proved to be good company, and travelling down the river by Elven boat far superior to barrel riding.  Bilbo thought he had avoided having to tell Thranduil the tale only through the sheer improbability of it, and the impossibility of it without his ring.  One who didn’t know of the ring would never guess what he could do.  Also, Gandalf had distracted Thranduil as best he could, and Thranduil seemed not to know which of them had been responsible for the Dwarven rescue.

Somehow, however, Bilbo found himself telling Legolas the story of the escape in the barrels, though he left out the part his ring had played.  Legolas seemed skeptical that Bilbo should have snuck into the Elven stronghold without being seen, but Bilbo only insisted that the proof was that he _had_ done it, so he must have done it without being seen.  Gandalf seemed to find the friendly dispute amusing, and said not a word to contradict Bilbo’s tale.  Certainly they all laughed to hear the description of the soggy and surly Dwarves after their ride down the river.  Bilbo felt a bit guilty laughing over what had, after all, been very difficult for the Dwarves; but the humor of it won out now, years later, as they travelled down the river by boat.  And he needed the stories to think on, for Bilbo was ever aware that they grew closer and closer to Erebor.  He was nervous, yes; and at night he lay awake imagining what it would be like to come to the Lonely Mountain once more.  He did not know what gave him the courage he needed to keep going, but he was glad he did not dream.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf and Bilbo arrive at their destination.

 

They were in Lake-town, and then bustling Dale.  Only the last approach to Erebor remained.  The mountain was green; Smaug’s barren and desolate wasteland grown over, though trees had not yet begun to gain a foothold.  Bilbo’s spirits lifted to see signs of summer on the mountainside, but not for long.  With every step his dread grew; though it was not a fear of Thorin himself, but of what Bilbo should say to him.  What could he say, faced with the entire company? What could he say, in Thorin’s presence once more?  At least, he thought, he did not love him anymore.  He did not think he could stand it if he did.

 Gandalf and Legolas could not help but sense Bilbo’s growing apprehension.  They let him alone, and talked quietly of the trade between the Dwarves and Men, and with the Elves.  It was for a discussion of that trade that Legolas had come to the mountain.  Both Dwarf and Elf would benefit, but long mistrust made agreement difficult.  Thranduil and Thorin made no headway at all.  It was hoped that Legolas, free of his father’s history with Thorin, could do better.  He seemed resigned rather than hopeful.

“I shall be lucky if he can look at me and not see my father,” he said.  “But I think we have much to offer the Dwarves, and they have begun to create many beautiful objects from the bounties of their mines once more.”

When they reached the Gate, Bilbo could not help but gape at the restored splendour.  The Dwarven guards stood proudly at attention, perhaps even belligerent.  Bilbo realized that he and Gandalf had been subsumed into Legolas’ retinue, and this was a reaction to the Elves.  None of the company were near to recognize them.  He decided he would prefer to come forward in this anonymous manner, if he could not sneak away to find some member of the company to greet without all this formal bother.  But the approach to the throne defeated him.  As the sides of the walk fell away, Bilbo’s feet would not move.  He found that his hands gripped Gandalf’s robes and his breathing was unsteady.

“I can’t,” he whispered.  Gandalf did not hear him.  Bilbo begin to panic, and more eyes turned his way.  “Gandalf!”  Still his voice was a tiny thing.  “I can’t, Gandalf!  I can’t!”  Gandalf finally realized that something was wrong.  His face was compassionate as he bent to Bilbo.

“You have come so far,” he said.  “It is only a few hundred feet more, perhaps.”  Legolas and his Elven cadre stopped now. 

Legolas asked carefully, “Bilbo?”  Gandalf waved him ahead.  The Elves began to move again.  As they separated, Bilbo became aware of some stir at the throne.  He kept his eyes high, on the ceiling, rather than look at the long drop away.  Still Gandalf knelt with him.  Bilbo’s breath came in unsteady pants.  He was nauseous, and his face felt slick with sweat.  He saw the guards stir to attention, and movement coming from the walkway; and then Thorin was there, with Fili and Kili close beside him.  When Thorin saw his state, he stopped a few feet away, his face wrecked, his hand outreached; but Fili and Kili continued and grasped him tight between them.

“Finally,” Fili said to his hair.  Bilbo tried to laugh, but he couldn’t.

“I can’t come any closer,” he gasped.  “Please, can we go away?”  Fili and Kili shared a look, then turned Thorin.

“If you will, Uncle,” Kili said formally, “I will escort our guests to a comfortable room to recover from a clearly taxing journey.”  Thorin nodded.  A muscle clenched in his jaw, and his eyes shone wetly.

“Fili and I will join you shortly,” he said.  “Inform Balin,” he paused, “and Dori, that our guests’ every need shall be met.”  He bowed deeply to Bilbo.  “I cannot—“ he began and then stopped, breathing deeply.  “Our dear friend:  you are very welcome in the mountain.”  He nodded to Gandalf; and with a gesture to Fili, they returned to greet the rather stunned Elven delegation.  If Bilbo could have noted it, he would have seen that Legolas smiled very widely indeed as he greeted Thorin.

Kili bustled Bilbo away from the Gate and down a hall until he found what he was looking for, a room with a comfortable sitting area on one side and a large table on the other.  He brought Bilbo to sit down, gesturing to the nearby fireplace.  One of the Dwarf attendants who had been following them peeled away to lay a fire there.  After settling Bilbo on the large sofa, he spoke to another attendant, who then quickly directed the others.  They scattered quickly, and before Bilbo knew it, he had a fur over his lap and one on his shoulders and a cup of sweet tea in his hands; and Kili sat next to him with Gandalf nearby.  His heart no longer seemed ready to beat out of his chest, and he could breathe steadily once more.

“You make an excellent host,” he said to Kili.

“I have had an excellent example set for me,” Kili replied.  He smiled, and then laughed out loud.  “Bilbo.  To see you under the mountain!  I am so happy to see you here!”  He laughed again, and turned to Gandalf.  “Did you see Uncle?  He nearly ran down Legolas to get to you!  Ah, I will be able to tease the both of them with that for a long time.”  He sobered then, but his eyes still shone with joy.  “It was very brave of you, Bilbo.”

Bilbo shook his head.  “It certainly didn’t feel like bravery,” he said. 

Kili reached out and squeezed his hand.  “And yet, it was,” he said.

And then it was chaos, as first Dori, then Bombur, then Balin and Nori together, then all the rest of the company in a jumble burst through the door.  There were hugs, and tears, and Bilbo winced to have his forehead hit by so many hard Dwarven heads, and he laughed to see several money pouches change hands.

Dinner that night was a private affair, only the company, less the Durins who must have a formal dinner with Legolas’ Elven delegation.  Kili seemed very disappointed to have to go, but he knew his duty; and he said Fili would come choke him if he spent any more time with Bilbo when Fili could not.  Bilbo assured him that Legolas was a very good sort, and that seemed to cheer him up.

“And,” he said, “you will be here for a good long visit, after all.”  He looked sternly at Bilbo, who nodded reluctantly.

“I will,” he said.  “You will be sick of me when I finally go.” 

Kili grinned.  “Not if you stayed five hundred years,” he said.

***

After a _very_ rowdy dinner (Bilbo privately thought that this dinner made it seem that the Dwarves had been on their best behaviour when they gathered at Bag End), everyone was finally calm, talking by the fire.  Bilbo’s nerves had gone entirely; the ale with dinner may have helped there.

“I wish you would sing,” he announced.

“Sing what?” Fili asked.  He and Thorin stood in the doorway.  The King under the Mountain and his heir had arrived.

Bilbo turned towards the door, though he did not leave his cozy spot on the sofa, stuffed between Bofur on one side and Gloin on the other.  Ori was perched on the sofa arm; he and Bilbo had been discussing the library.  Bilbo might have let slip that Balin did know where it was but wasn’t supposed to tell.

“Sing the one about the Misty Mountains,” he said.  “The first one I ever heard you sing.  Actually, that’s not true.  First was the song about blunting my mother’s knives...  The song of the Misty Mountains was after that.  But it was the one.”

“What one?”  Bofur asked from beside him.

“The one that made me decide,” Bilbo nodded decisively.  “To go with you, I mean; to go adventuring with Gandalf and thirteen Dwarves.  It was all up to that song.”

Thorin moved to Bilbo like he saw nothing in his way; and indeed, Dwarves scattered before him, so that Bilbo found himself on his sofa alone, with Thorin standing before him.  Thorin gestured to the sofa.  Bilbo nodded mutely.

Thorin sat, and in his deep, deep voice he sang.  Bilbo knew the other Dwarves joined in, but he heard only Thorin.  Bother, he thought.  Despite everything.  Still.  Still. 

He trembled a little to have Thorin so close, and he knew it was not all from fear.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo has a confrontation with Thorin.

 

Bilbo was surprised to learn that the room in which the company had sang to him late into the night was merely the first in a suite of rooms, one of which was a rather cozy bedroom with a Hobbit-sized bed.  Dori told him that the entire suite was his for the duration of his stay.  Bilbo looked at the bed and then at Dori.

Dori smiled and stood as tall as he could.  “Bombur and I try to anticipate his majesty’s every need, after all,” he said.  “And you are here, are you not?”

And in that warm and comfortable bed, Bilbo slept until the morning, not waking until an attendant came to him to tell him that the king requested he breakfast with him in half an hour.

Breakfast, Bilbo was surprised to learn, was not with the company again, but Thorin alone, in a small room in what appeared to be Thorin’s private chambers.  The room’s walls were not straight, but curved like a dome and every inch seemed covered in gold filigree and sapphires.  Bilbo feared that he stared, and Thorin seemed embarrassed.

“These rooms were my grandmother’s,” he said.  “My old ones were no longer safe, and I—I have many fond memories of her in these rooms.  My grandfather had this breakfast room redecorated for her.  I don’t remember the occasion; but she loved it, so I do not change it.”

“I think it’s lovely,” Bilbo said.  “And a reminder of family is important.”

Much of their meal they ate in silence.  Bilbo remained tense in Thorin’s presence, and Thorin, for his part, seemed lost in thought.  Still they lingered over the crumbs.  At last, Thorin spoke.

“Kili tells me that you will be here for a lengthy visit,” he said.

“I don’t know,” Bilbo said.  “A while, certainly, if you don’t mind, as it is a long way to go simply to turn around and go home.  And I would like to see everyone so much.”

Thorin, when he replied, was insistent.  “I think you must stay for as long as the Shire can spare you,” he said.  “We have been without you for far too long.”

Bilbo studied his plate.  His heart betrayed him.

“Bilbo,” said Thorin.  Hesitantly, so slowly, he reached out his hand to cross the distance between them.  “It seems so, yet I will not presume; have you forgiven me?”

Bilbo shook, but was not fear that moved him.  His stupid, stupid heart.  Thorin had been his friend, and they would be friends again now; but the gap between a king and a Hobbit still yawned.  Yet he would be Thorin’s friend.  He allowed his eyes to meet Thorin’s.

“I have, I think,” he said.  “And I am grateful, for it seems you have forgiven me.  I should have asked for it long ago.  I am sorry too.”

Thorin shook his head.  “I was mad, and what can you say to a madman?  You were right, and it took nearly dying for me to realize that what I would miss was neither gold nor gem, no matter how precious.”

“Friends, then?”  Bilbo smiled shyly at Thorin.  He extended his hand to grasp Thorin’s.

Thorin paused, then nodded.  “Friends.”

***

After that, though Thorin was busy, Bilbo saw him often.  Usually he would invite Bilbo to join him for meals when he could; at times, this meant dining with the Elves who remained at the mountain.  Bilbo assumed that meant trade negotiations continued.  He congratulated Legolas on his progress.  Legolas smiled wryly.

“It’s not progress, exactly; it’s only that we haven’t been kicked out yet.”  His smile widened into what could only be called a grin.  “Everyone seems in such a good mood since we arrived.”

Bilbo waggled a finger at him.  “If you think you owe me for that, you can repay me by not telling your father a certain story about barrels.”  Legolas laughed.

“Oh no,” he said.  “I have to save that one for when I want to provoke a really good strop.  I make no promises.”

The next day, Gandalf was to depart.  Bilbo was sad to see him go; but in addition, he needed to know if he would be fleeing the mountain again.  If so, he wanted Gandalf’s company.  So that evening he asked that Thorin come to see him.  Nervously he waited in his comfortable sitting room, twisting his hands together.  Thorin entered with a smile.

“Bilbo,” he said.  “Finally I am done with those wretched Elves for the day.  I admit that we could use some game from their forests, and Thranduil’s boats could ease journeying and trading with the Men in Dale and Lake-town, but he wants always to have first pick of all our trade.  He covets, and he wants rarities—“ he stopped.  He had seen it then.

“Bilbo,” he pleaded.

Bilbo fidgeted.

“Please, Bilbo,” his voice broke.  “Tell me that box is empty.”

Bilbo shook his head.  Thorin collapsed in the nearest chair, his face in his hands.

“I couldn’t,” Bilbo said.

“Is this why you came?” Thorin’s voice was muffled by his hands.

“Partly,” Bilbo acknowledged.  “But only partly.”

“Would you have come without it?” Thorin asked.

“I don’t know,” Bilbo said.  “I would like to think so.”

Thorin stood and went to the door.

“You must take it,” Bilbo said.  Thorin turned.  His face was furious, as furious as he had been that day by the Gate.

“If you would give that cursed rock back to me,” he hissed.  “Then you can do it as I sit on the throne of my forefathers.  Only then will I take it from you.”  And he swept from the room, leaving the Arkenstone in its box on the table.

Bilbo looked at it.  Cursed rock indeed.

The next day Thorin did not request Bilbo’s presence at all, but Kili and Fili burst into his sitting room during his lunch with the Ri brothers.  Upon seeing their faces, Dori stood, grasped Ori and Nori each by the shoulder, and led them from the room.

“Uncle’s face this morning,” Fili’s voice showed his awe.  “What did you do?”

Kili shook his head.  “Oh, brother,” he said.  “Did you not guess?”  He tilted his head over to the shelf where the Arkenstone sat in its box.

“Bilbo,” Fili moaned.  “Tell me you didn’t.”

Bilbo frowned exasperatedly at Fili.  “Would you like me to lie?” he asked.  Fili blanched.

Kili took pity and led Bilbo to his sofa, where he could snuggle with his fur for comfort.

“Bilbo,” he said gently.  “We all wanted you to have it.” 

Bilbo looked at him, lost.  “I don’t understand,” he said.

Fili closed his eyes.  “It was not easy, to give it to you,” he said, “Which is why it had to be done.  Truly, Uncle did it not to make up to you what he had done, but to remove its temptation from our midst.”

Kili nodded.  “We think, Fili and I, it is what brought the gold sickness down so hard on Uncle, for he knew it from before, and it called to him.”

“It was my greatest fear,” said Fili, “That when I was on the throne, I should fall to it as well.  Uncle has survived it, and come out stronger, but who is to say that I can do the same?  For surely there are few Dwarves of his mettle.  I do not know that I am one of them.  I was glad to see it gone.” 

Bilbo nodded slowly.  “I have felt its pull,” he said.  “But it is the Heart of the Mountain; it is a gem for kings.  I am merely a simple Hobbit.”

Kili sunk down to lean into Bilbo.  “There is nothing simple about you,” he said.

Bilbo told them what Thorin had said about how he would have it back. 

Fili sucked in his breath.  “That was cruel of him to say.”

“Perhaps he is right,” Bilbo replied.  “It seems I am asking more of him than I knew.”  He met Fili’s gaze.  “We shall see how simple I am.  Tomorrow I shall try.”


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo confronts his fear.

 

The next day he made it ten steps onto the approach to the throne.  It was two days before he tried again.  He took nearly thirty steps that time before he was forced to retreat, pale and shaking.

That night he dreamt, for the first time since he had come to Erebor.

The next day he asked Kili for help.

Every day before breakfast, when the throne stood empty and no eyes were upon him, they attempted the approach to the throne.  Some days Bilbo could go no further than he had the day before, but he insisted that each day he go at least that far.  Some days Bilbo crawled.  Still, he went—shaking, nauseous, sweating, heart racing—every day.

One day as he and Kili retreated to the Gate, he saw that Thorin was waiting for them.  “So brave,” he said, touching his forehead to Bilbo’s.  “You shame me.”  He stood, and Bilbo thought he felt—no.  He was still dizzy from the approach. 

“Bring it to my rooms tonight after dinner,” he said.  “I will take it.”

Oh! Bilbo straightened.  “I will bring it to you tomorrow,” he bit out.  “Here, in the throne room.”  And he stalked from the wide hall, dragging Kili with him to his rooms, where he slammed the door.

“Kili!” he wailed.  “What have I done!”

Kili crossed his arm across his chest.  “You always do well under pressure,” he said comfortingly.

The next morning Bilbo was waiting when Thorin came to sit in receiving on his throne.  Fili and Kili waited with him.  He was glad to see that Legolas was there also.

“How go the negotiations?” Bilbo asked.

“Nowhere,” Legolas returned glibly.  “Though my father has made my task hard, I persevere.”

Bilbo was surprised.  “Not Thorin, but your father, makes your task hard?” he asked.

Legolas sighed.  “He wants the impossible,” he said, “for the Dwarves to send every new discovery to us for right of refusal, and monopoly if he likes.  They will never shackle themselves so, but my father will not be happy until Thorin is _un_ happy.  And while we should like the trade...”

Bilbo nodded in comprehension.  “You have done without it for all the years the mountain Dwarves were in exile,” he said.  “You don’t need it anymore, if you ever did.”

“Yes,” Legolas agreed.  “But Thorin has called me to attend him this morning, so perhaps this is the day I shall be sent home.  Certainly he has not changed his mind.”

And then Thorin arrived.  He was majestic in his blue robes and ceremonial armour, with silver beads in his braids, all a king of the Dwarves should be.  Bilbo shook to see him.  He was not ready, but he grasped Kili tightly by one hand, the Arkenstone in its box in the other.  Fili walked by his side.  Ten steps, thirty, fifty, seventy... He did not allow himself to look down.  Sweat rolled down his brow, and he grew cold.  He slowed his steps.

“I cannot do it,” he whispered.

“You _are_ doing it,” Kili whispered back.

He had lost count of the steps.  How many remained?  He felt nauseous, but he gritted his teeth and continued.  He kept his eyes steady on Thorin as he sat on his throne.  Thorin’s hands gripping his armrests were white and he seemed ready to bolt from his throne at the slightest sign that Bilbo was faltering.  Bilbo kept moving, and it was a shock to him when he realized that he was—with Fili on one side and Kili on the other—crossing the approach to the throne.  He was more than halfway there.  He squeezed Kili’s hand and smiled at Fili.

“Thank you,” he said.  “Thank you so much, for walking with me.” Kili squeezed his hand in return.

“Bilbo,” Fili said.  “At your service.”

And then he was there.  Thorin stood to meet him.  His eyes glowed as he looked at Bilbo.

“Your majesty,” Bilbo said.

Thorin bowed.  “Ever at your service.”  Oh, Bilbo’s heart!  Why must he—so handsome, so kind he had been, so regal—and now!  Bilbo surrendered entirely.  He was lost.

“Some months ago,” Bilbo said, and he was proud that his voice wavered only a little, “you sent me a gift which I cannot accept.  This is a rare jewel, and I am only a simple Hobbit.  Please, you must take it back.”  He held out the case to Thorin.

Thorin placed his hands on the case over Bilbo’s.  “It is a rare jewel, and it was meant for a rare friend.  But it has made you unhappy, so I will allow you to return it.”  He raised his voice.  “Perhaps it may yet serve a purpose.  Legolas Greenleaf, come forth.”

Fili and Kili moved to flank Thorin as Legolas crossed to the throne.  Thorin’s voice as he spoke filled the hall.

“A rare jewel has been returned to me today, but of more value to me is the healing of a friendship I once thought fatally severed.”  He nodded to Legolas.  “Your people and mine have long been at odds; but in honor of my valued friend, I offer your people this gift today.  May its beauty enrich the halls of the Elfking forever.”  With that, he removed his hands from Bilbo’s, and smiled.  Bilbo looked at him, his eyes wide.  Thorin gestured towards Legolas, and so Bilbo tottered over to his friend so that he could convey Thorin’s gift—the Arkenstone—to Thranduil’s son.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We reach the end.

 

As the day wore on and the gossip spread, Bilbo found his rooms invaded by the company.  No one, apparently, had known what Thorin had planned.  None but Fili and Kili had known what they conveyed to Bilbo.  All were in shock.  Bilbo could tell that some disapproved; but these Dwarves, above all others, were loyal to their king.  It was Thorin’s Arkenstone to do with as he would.  By teatime (a practice Bilbo had found it necessary to import to Erebor), Bilbo had had enough.  He ushered them all out of his rooms and curled up on his couch with his tea and dark bread with soft cheese.  Soon after he finished his tea, he was asleep.

He woke to soft knocking on his door.  The servant who entered upon his call brought a tray laden with dinner enough for four and Thorin following behind.

Bilbo smiled to see him.  “It was very kind, what you said today,” he said.

Thorin returned his smile.  “It was true,” he replied.  He gestured to the dinner tray.  “May I join you?”

 Bilbo nodded, and they shared a meal for the first time since Bilbo had brought the Arkenstone between them once more.  After, they sat quietly by Bilbo’s fire.

It became a pattern between them; when Thorin could, he would take dinner with Bilbo in his rooms.  With Legolas returned to the Mirkwood to present the Arkenstone to his father, Thorin had more time for Bilbo than before.  Bilbo savored those private meals, and more, the time by the fire after.  Often they did not speak, but Bilbo was content.  Thorin had stated—had shown—in the clearest way how much he valued Bilbo.  As for Bilbo, he felt his hopeless love for Thorin deepen every day.  That his love should feel such friendship for him was all he had ever dared to wish.  They had come so far.

And if sometimes Bilbo cried himself to sleep, longing for what could never be, no one but he had to know.

Perhaps things might have continued like that for some time if not for Fili and Kili.  Somehow, the brothers learned of Thorin and Bilbo’s dinners and began to join them.  They lingered after the meal, too, until all of the private time Bilbo had used to have with Thorin disappeared.  It had been weeks since Bilbo had been alone with him.  Bilbo loved the boys, of course; but he keenly felt the loss of his time alone with Thorin.  He had nothing else of this Dwarf he loved; he would have this.  Finally he cornered Kili.

“Tonight you and Fili will eat elsewhere,” he said without prelude.  Kili tilted his head and looked at him.

“We will?” he asked.

“You will,” Bilbo answered.

Kili shrugged.  “I guess we will,” he said.

***

Thorin did not at first seem to realise that Fili and Kili would not be coming to dinner.  He raised an eyebrow when Bilbo suggested they begin.

“Do my sister-sons not join us this evening?” he asked.

“I believe they have made other plans,” Bilbo said.  Thorin nodded and moved to the table. 

“I admit to surprise that they should do so,” he said.  “They love you, you know; and are jealous of your company.”

“They are dear boys,” Bilbo replied.  “Wiser and less wild than they were.”

Thorin nodded.  “It is another debt I owe you,” he said.  “I did not know how badly Kili hurt until he came back from you, healing.”

“I think we helped each other,” Bilbo said.  “I could not have crossed that expanse to your throne without him.”

Thorin seemed to hesitate on the edge of speech. 

“Yes?” Bilbo asked.

“It was hard on him, when you left us.  Before,” Thorin said.  Bilbo’s hands stilled and fell to his lap.  Thorin continued.  “I do not blame you for leaving.  I know well where the fault lies.  But I think he loved you, and so when you left...”

Bilbo was speechless.  “Kili?” he sputtered.  “You are wrong!”  Thorin’s temper shone through for a moment.

“I know what it looks like, when a Durin loves,” he growled.  “I would not speak so if I were not sure.”  Bilbo stared at him wildly.

“Why would you tell me at all?” he cried.  A thought struck him, and horrified, he reached out to Thorin.  “Tell me he does not love me still!”

Thorin sighed.  “I think as time passed what he felt softened; certainly he came back from his visit to you with his love changed.  I believe he feels for you now as he might feel for me, were I a better Dwarf and a better uncle.”

Bilbo grasped Thorin’s hand.  “Do you think Fili and Kili do not love and admire you?  I have heard them say it; you are the finest Dwarf they know.  They are so proud of you, Thorin.”  Thorin turned his hand in Bilbo’s so that they were palm to palm and gently squeezed his hand.  They stayed thus for a moment, until Thorin spoke again.

“Bilbo,” he said slowly.  “I knew it in Kili because it was in myself as well.”  Bilbo looked at him, puzzled.  “I too, felt possessive, and was hurtful to the one I loved; and when I came to my senses it was too late, for I had lost him.”

“I am sorry,” said Bilbo.  Now he wished that he had never chased Kili and Fili away, that he had never had to have this painful conversation.  Nevertheless he would be a good friend to Thorin and listen about his lost love; he would cry when he was alone.

“Are you?” Thorin seemed resigned.  “There is no hope, then?”

This was too much!  Still, Bilbo would do his best.

“I think there is always hope,” he said.  “Have you spoken?  To your love?”  Try as he might, he could not smile, nor could he meet Thorin’s eyes.  Thus he was surprised when he felt Thorin lift his chin, and more so to see the gentleness there.

“Bilbo,” he said.  “I am trying.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said.  “Oh!”  The room went dark around him.  The next he knew, he was lying on his sofa, a wet cloth on his forehead, Thorin kneeling by him, worriedly saying his name.

He batted the cloth off his head and sat up that he might better stare at Thorin.

“Me,” he said.  “You mean me.”

Thorin nodded.  “I do not know how you did not see it, Bilbo.  I had thought I made my preference clear.”

Bilbo shook his head, still stunned.  “I thought us friends,” he said.  “I did not hope for more than that.”

Thorin flinched and closed his eyes.  Hesitantly, so hesitantly, Bilbo reached out to touch his cheek. 

“Thorin,” he said.  “Look at me.”  Thorin met his eyes.  “I love you and I think I might have since—well, since long ago.  But I never dared to hope.”

Thorin took Bilbo’s free hand in his.

“Bilbo, you idiot,” he said.  “Do you think I would give the Arkenstone to just a friend?  Do you think that I would _give it to Thranduil_ to honor a mere friendship?”

Bilbo laughed weakly.  “I did,” he said.  Thorin touched his forehead to Bilbo’s.

“For having spent so much time with us, you do not know Dwarves very well,” he said.  And then he brought his mouth to Bilbo’s.

***

Bilbo fretted about how the company would react to the news, especially Fili and Kili.  _Especially_ Kili, given Thorin’s unexpected revelations.  Apparently, however, he was the only one who had not understood Thorin’s feelings for what they were; the only question in the company’s minds was whether Thorin’s feelings were requited.  Bilbo supposed Hobbits were as hard to read for Dwarves as Dwarves were for Hobbits.  Fili and Kili in particular seemed overjoyed.

“We won’t lose you to the Shire again, now,” Kili crowed.

“This doesn’t mean I won’t ever go back there,” Bilbo warned.

“Yes, but then you will be visiting,” Kili replied.  “This will be your home.”

Fili nodded.  “And you won’t go alone.  I would be happy to see the Shire again.”

Bilbo sighed.  He would miss the Shire a great deal; but even when he had feared Thorin, he had missed him.  Living without him now...

“Ugh,” Kili elbowed Fili.  “He is mooning over Uncle again; I can tell these things.”  Fili laughed.

***

Bilbo still had his dream, on occasion; but he also had Thorin to comfort him when he woke.  Thorin was devastated when he realized that sometimes Bilbo still dreamed of that glittering abyss.

“I gave you that fear,” he said, “of the fall from the throne’s passage.”  Bilbo stroked his handsome face.

“We have hurt each other,” he said.  “and we have healed, each of us stronger than we were before.  I cannot say we will not hurt each other again, but I hope we will be kinder with each other afterwards.”

Thorin rolled onto his back.  “The Durin line is not known for its kindness,” he said.

“And yet, you have been very kind to me,” Bilbo replied.  Thorin did not seem consoled.  Bilbo leaned onto Thorin’s chest.  “Perhaps you might find a way to be kind to me now,” he suggested.

Thorin rolled him over and proceeded to be very kind indeed.

***

The wedding was a grand state affair, but Bilbo put up with it.  It was in the throne room, which was still not easy for Bilbo; but Thorin was by his side.  Gandalf came, and Elrond and Arwen came, and even a few of Bilbo’s Took relatives had braved the trip from the Shire.  Thorin’s sister and Kili and Fili’s mother, Dís, came, with wagons carrying luggage enough for a very long visit indeed.  Bilbo found Dís intimidating; he did not know if it were better or worse that the Dwarves of the Durin line seemed to tread carefully around Dís as well. 

Large delegations came from both the Men of Dale and the Woodelves.  Thranduil wore a crown decorated with gems clearly cut from the Arkenstone.  Thorin growled under his breath, but he was gracious to Thranduil’s face, which seemed to disappoint Thranduil greatly.  Thorin, on the other hand, was greatly cheered when Bilbo pointed it out to him.

At times they did fight, and at times one was hurt; but they knew what they were capable of—for good and for ill alike.  Always they sought to remember their love in the midst of their anger.  Sometimes Bilbo thought back on what his life should have been like, had he never gone with thirteen Dwarves and one wizard to burgle a mountain from under a Dragon.  A respectable life in the Shire would likely have been a comfortable and pleasant life.  He should never have had to confront the glittering abyss; he should never have known such pain or fear.  He would never have crossed that abyss to know such love and joy, either.  He would not be the Hobbit he was.  And that, he thought, was a very lucky Hobbit indeed.


End file.
